Chapter 10 - The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room was cold,
the gray concrete walls smelling of old coffee and lingering despair,
Richard Henderson sat at the metal table,
his handcuffs clinking softly every time he shifted his weight,
the door swung open,
and Detective Miller walked in,
carrying a thick manila folder filled with financial audits and signed affidavits,
dropping it onto the table with a heavy thud,
Richard looked up,
his eyes bloodshot,
his face aged ten years in less than twenty-four hours,
snarling through clenched teeth,
“I want my lawyer,
I'm not saying a word without Victor present,”
Detective Miller pulled out a chair,
sitting down slowly across from him,
stating calmly,
“Your lawyer is currently downstairs drafting your plea bargain,
Richard,
because he knows the case against you is airtight,
we have your signature on twenty years of forged bank transfers,
we have the offshore shell company records from the Cayman Islands,
and most importantly,
we have your own voice caught on body cameras threatening your daughter at the estate,”
Richard leaned back,
trying to force a defiant smirk onto his face,
muttering arrogantly,
“It's a family dispute over inheritance,
courts don't send people to federal prison for handling family assets,”
Detective Miller opened the folder,
flipping directly to a police report dated twenty-two years ago,
placing it squarely in front of Richard's eyes,
saying softly,
“That might be true,
Richard,
if we were only talking about financial embezzlement,
but we aren't,”
Richard's smirk faltered,
his eyes locking onto the yellowed paper,
stuttering defensively,
“What is this?”,
Detective Miller leaned in close,
his voice dropping to a chilling whisper,
“This is the original accident report of Eleanor Henderson's drowning,
the case your mother,
Margaret,
spent the last two decades quietly investigating behind your back,
new forensic evidence recovered from her personal safe deposit box includes a signed confession from the mechanic who tampered with the brake lines of her car the night she drove off the coastal cliff,
and guess whose fingerprints were found on the payment slip deposited into his offshore account?”,
Richard went completely rigid,
every drop of blood draining from his face,
his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water,
whispering in absolute terror,
“No...
that's impossible...
that case was closed decades ago,”
Detective Miller snapped the folder shut,
locking handcuffs onto the metal anchor ring of the table,
stating coldly,
“Cases involving first-degree murder never truly close,
Richard,
May you like
and your daughter didn't just inherit a bank account today,
she inherited the full weight of the law coming down to avenge her mother.”
